Sparks fly in Louisiana’s Butterfly Bayou when a Hollywood starlet falls for a local deputy in a new small-town contemporary romance from New York Times bestselling author Lexi Blake.
Bayou Sweetheart
A Butterfly Bayou Novel
by Lexi Blake
Blurb:
He’s looking for love but he never expected her.
After leaving the military, Major Blanchard moved to Papillon, Louisiana, to be with his aging father, where he’s taken a deputy position with the sheriff’s department. Now that he’s settling into life on the bayou, he’s trying out the dating scene. Every single woman in town seems to be pining after the handsome newcomer. But so far, nothing’s worked out, and he’s had some spectacularly bad dates. Major’s getting ready to give up on love when a new lady roars into town to film a movie and turns his world upside down.
Actress Brynn Pearson is trying to make a successful transition from child star to leading lady. Now that she’s landed her first lead in a major film, nothing can stop her. She’s committed to focusing solely on her work, so romance is the last thing she needs—too bad she can’t get her mind off the dreamy deputy who’s working security for the film. He’s gorgeous, and something about him makes her feel safe. As Brynn’s feelings for Major deepen, she starts to wonder if maybe there’s more to life than her career.
When a family crisis throws Major’s life into a tailspin, he turns to Brynn for support, and hopes the relationship growing between them will shine brighter than Hollywood lights.
“Are you still driving Harry’s truck? I only ask so I can have an idea of how many people are going to call the station about the pretty blond car thief.”
Brynn winced. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. And no. Harry had an emergency. Apparently his mother-in-law had some plumbing problems and he went out to help. I called a car service.”
“We have a car service?” Major asked and then winced. “Please tell me Greg Bonham isn’t still trying to make Guber happen.”
She snorted. “Yes. I heard all about his plan to create a fleet of golf carts.”
“That’s not road legal. You are not calling him to take you back.” He groaned, though it sounded like a sexy growl. “I’ll drive you home, and I’ll have a talk with Greg because putting twinkle lights all over a golf cart does not make it safe. So, where’s your buddy this evening?”
“Duke?” She didn’t have another buddy. She had acquaintances. She had coworkers. She had fans. She didn’t have buddies beyond her dog. She suddenly realized how sad that was.
“Yes. I miss his royal disdain.”
“Disdain?”
A brow rose over Major’s eyes. “That dog does not like me. And he didn’t like Dolly, either, which is a mistake on his part because she is delightful.”
Brynn chuckled. “That’s not what you were saying when she was wrapped around your shoulders.”
“Well, we’ve moved on and she’s delightful again. She never met a stranger, and I think she was hurt by Duke’s rejection of her love.”
Oh, this was an infinitely more dangerous man than the one she’d met before. Was he flirting with her? If he was, it was working, because she was ready to throw out everything she’d learned about him earlier in the day. “Duke takes his time warming up to people, but once he gets used to you, you’ll find him delightful, too. He’s back at the B and B. When I’m not able to take him with me, he usually stays with an assistant. In this case, he’s hanging out with Shep. What has you in a good mood? Did you get to ticket a bunch of people?”
He put a hand on his chest. “I do not enjoy ticketing people, Brynn. Especially not people around here. They’re mouthy and very creative in finding an excuse for not using their blinker when they turn. By the way, speaking of ticketing people, you have a lead foot. That is not going to do you well here. The boss is always on the lookout to upgrade the station house’s appliances, and the money from driving offenses goes straight into his budget. He’s got two small children at home now. He wants an espresso machine. He kind of needs it to keep functioning.”
Ah, the joys of small-town life. “Thank you for the warning. How about I gift him one and maybe you gently look the other way?”
That jawline of his straightened, and he turned on his serious stare. “Ma’am, are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?”
That cop voice got to her. She suddenly understood why people role-played. She’d always thought it was dumb, but now she could see how Deputy Major doing a slow search of her body could be sexy. In a playful way, of course. A consenting way.
Was she thinking about hopping into bed with him?
*****
Author Info:
New York Times bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband and three kids. Since starting her publishing journey in 2010, she’s sold over three million copies of her books. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance that she found success. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings.
Micah the Unwilling, fae King of the Forgotten, can tame even the most violent of beasts. Forged on the battlefield, this iron-willed warrior considers his soldiers his family, and he will stop at nothing to reclaim their dispossessed land. Gearing for war with a sadistic enemy, he is disciplined and focused—until a feral beauty he encountered long ago wanders into his camp.
Viori de Aoibheall wields a terrifying ability to sing monsters to life. Having spent her childhood in a forest, raising herself and her frightening creations—the only friends she’s ever known—she’s ill prepared for the scarred royal and his fearsome brutality. Not to mention the ferocity of their connection and the carnality of his touch. But the real problem? Her brother is Micah’s greatest foe. And though the sensual king makes her burn, she must stop him, whatever the cost.
Fifteen-year-old Micah spun slowly, his jaw slack. What is this place? Spears of lightning forked across a dark sky heavy with darker clouds. Glowing silvery orbs hung from tree branches, illuminating a forest clearing he wished he hadn’t discovered. The eeriness of it all boggled the mind.
From the outside, thick white fog had enveloped the interlocking trees set in a wide circle. From the inside, however, he had an unobstructed view of the dried blood that stained the bark—and the faces carved within. Fierce expressions projected everything from dread to malice, and he shuddered.
Someone had gone to great trouble to make the gnarled giants resemble belua. Monsters of unimaginable strength, somehow birthed from the elements themselves. Able to live and breathe and walk among fae.
Micah tightened his grip on a makeshift dagger—a twig he’d sharpened with his teeth and what remained of his nails.
Beady eyes seemed to track his every movement as he trod deeper into the clearing. A large, moss-covered stone with a wide base and a flat top occupied the center of the ring. An altar?
A chilled breeze blustered past, rousing goose bumps on his skin. Scanning… The vibrant moss provided the only foliage here. There were no animals or insects. No other life whatsoever.
Death reigned here.
A crack of thunder boomed, punctuating his thought, and he almost jumped out of his skin. The next lightning bolt charged the atmosphere; electric currents pricked his spine. Micah dragged in the scent of ash and… What was that? Sweetness itself? A unique fragrance brimming with all the glories of the Summer Court. Sunshine, flowers and citrus.
His mouth watered, and his empty stomach protested. When had he last eaten?
Twig at the ready, he approached the stone and gathered a fistful of moss. The first bite proved bitter, the second more so. But as the greenery settled in his stomach, some of his pains faded; he only desired more.
He shoveled another fistful into his mouth, then another and another, unable to slow himself. For over a year, he’d wandered the wastelands of Astaria alone. Originally, he’d traveled with his guardian. A great warrior named Erwen. A great man, period. He’d found baby Micah inside a basket, and saved him from being eaten by trolls.
He bit his tongue, tasting blood. Erwen had died in battle with a belua. A massive snow beast in the Winterlands.
Micah had expected to perish alongside his guardian. A part of him had hoped to die. How he’d loved Erwen, his sole companion—the only person willing to be near him.
Like his guardian, Micah was a chimera. A rare fae born with dual glamaras that were constantly at odds. The clash created a negative force field around them. Unwanted by fae and humans alike. Feared by everyone. Known for scarring—outward evidence of weakness and a badge of shame.
Chilly wind rattled branches. Lightning peppered the sky, spotlighting— Micah froze, his breath hitched. Were their limbs untangling? Had the one to his left narrowed its eyes?
An illusion?
Genuine belua? Had he stumbled into a nest?
He dropped the newest handful of moss, preparing to bolt. But, from the corner of his eye, he perceived an array of color. Smooth gold. Vivid pink. Gleaming scarlet. He meant to glance, nothing more. A quick peek to ensure no one sneaked up on him. Instead, he stared and reared back, his eyes going wide.
Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing? Surely not. And yet…
Maybe.
Heart jumping, he lurched closer to the stone. Sucked in a breath. A girl. A fae. Exquisite. She slept upon the slab, seemingly growing from the surface. Or from the forest itself.
Lightning flashed, there and gone, showcasing a smattering of freckles, pink cheeks and cherry lips that were bowed in the center. Other details hit him, throwing him for loop after loop. They might be the same age. Flawless skin the color of sunlight, vibrant with life. Delicate features usually only found on royalty. A plain gown too short and tight to cover the abundance of shapely curves.
Who was she? Why was she here? What color were her eyes?
Excitement arced through Micah. Would she mind being friends with a chimera?
A rolling rumble precipitated the first splatter of rain. Cold droplets splashed his cheeks, and he grinned. Let the liquid soak him. What did he care? He’d uncovered a treasure of unsurpassed value.
The rain deluged her, too, her gown becoming transparent. Trembling suddenly more pronounced, he reached out to brush droplets from her cheek.
A rustle sounded behind him, and he wheeled around, ready to defend his prize. Too late. A tree loomed before him, and the truth hit, hard.
“Belua!” Hiding in plain sight.
A fat branch slammed into his head. He flew across the clearing, dropping his makeshift weapon when he crashed into another tree.
His lungs emptied. So dizzy. No time to recover. Another branch flung him in the opposite direction.
Ribs broke on impact, and agony seared him. Before he could rise, roots coiled around his ankle and attempted to eject him from the clearing. He clawed at the ground, determined to hold his position and shield the girl. Dirt and blood coated his tongue.
Bark scraped his spine. Limbs stabbed into different bones. Wheezing, fighting the urge to vomit, Micah rolled out of the way.
A limb pierced a vital organ, and an agonized scream burst from him. The pain! Then, suddenly, he was airborne, soaring across the expanse. When he landed, a world of darkness crackled open its jaw and swallowed him whole.
As Micah healed, he realized a startling truth. The monsters safeguarded the girl. They hadn’t attacked until he uncovered her. More than that, they hadn’t struck to kill him. Otherwise, he would be dead.
Why they guarded her—why they had shown him mercy—he didn’t know. But he wondered. Was little Red on that stone slab of her own volition or a captive?
There was one way to find out…
Micah returned to the clearing—to her—with a firm goal in mind. Befriend these belua. If he could join them, protect the girl until she awoke…
Was this a betrayal to Erwen and everything he’d stood for? Surely not. His guardian had lived by four rules.
Do no harm to the innocent. Protect what’s yours. Always do what’s right. Never be without a backup plan.
The sleeping beauty was vulnerable and in need of another fae. Just in case the trees held her against her will.
What better path to travel than keeping her safe?
Micah advanced on the creatures cautiously, both hands lifted. “You had every right to eject me,” he told them. In their minds, he’d committed a terrible offense. Touching a female without her willing consent. Or theirs. Now, he hoped to prove the innocence of his intentions. “I did your fair lady wrong. Allow me to present her with a gift of apology. And respect.” He revealed a red crystal he’d dug from the earth bright and early this morning. “So much respect.”
A prolonged hesitation followed his words, anticipation stealing his breath. Finally, the trees opened a doorway for him.
Giddy but remaining vigilant, he entered slowly, placed the present on a step leading to the altar and backed away. Rather than exit, he faced the largest of the bunch. “I mean her no harm, and I won’t touch her again. If you’ll let me, I’ll help you with her protection.”
He wasn’t immediately impaled, a good sign. Micah set up camp. As one week blended into another, the trees relaxed around him. As their tension faded, bright leaves budded, creating a vibrant paradise.
For the first time in Micah’s life, provision without price abounded. Various species of flowers, fruits and nuts flourished without cease, dropping from overburdened limbs.
Nourishment rained all hours. In offering or apology, he didn’t know which.
Morning and evening, he thanked his companions for the bounty. Never had Micah enjoyed such delicious meals. But…when will she awaken?
Fresh moss covered the girl, protecting her from sun, wind and rain. Her sweet scent magnified daily, coating the air; he considered every inhalation a precious gift.
How did she sleep so deeply? And why? For how long? Why did belua continue to protect her, no matter how much time passed?
Did she crave a friend? If the beautiful fae with freckles sought a fellow fae companion, shouldn’t he oblige her?
Longing gripped Micah. But you aren’t a fae, are you? Not exactly. He shifted in the bed he’d constructed with twigs and fallen hanks of moss. He just…he wanted to belong to someone. To be welcomed. Maybe even admired.
What did such affection even feel like? And what was the beauty’s name? Would she like his offerings? There were many.
Anytime a troll or centaur neared the clearing, Micah departed the ring to end the threat. He collected supplies left by the dead, amassing a treasure trove of weapons, dried meats, clothing, maps, coins and jewels. All for her. Well, mostly for her. He’d kept some of the clothing for himself, exchanging a filthy, tattered tunic and ripped leathers for higher quality garments. Even a cloak to help him hide the scars left by the tree attack.
Would she like him?
As he gathered an array of fruit for breakfast, he stole glances at her. For the first time, much of the moss withered, baring her fully. Morning sunlight lent her golden skin an otherworldly glow. Silken locks of auburn hair gleamed.
Curling black lashes cast spiky shadows over pinkened cheeks. Plump red lips with a bowed center and a stubborn chin added to her captivating allure.
The girl— Wait. Had that cherry mouth parted? Micah froze, every cell buzzing. Even the trees stilled, as if time suspended. Then…
A soft moan left her. The first sound she’d made since his arrival. Then she stretched her arms over her head.
He dropped the bundle in his arms, pink-and-red fruit thudding to the ground, rolling away. Startled by the noise, the girl jolted upright, auburn locks tumbling around her delicate shoulders. She blinked to orient herself.
His mind raced with a thousand thought fragments. Even more beautiful… jade eyes, brighter than the leaves…gown soon to tear apart at the seams…friend… Mine?
She turned, maneuvering her legs over the side of the bed. Standing. Stretching. As graceful as a swan he’d once spied in the Summer Court.
Micah stood in awe, utterly transfixed.
As if sensing him at last, she looked his way and gasped. Her mouth floundered open and closed, fright overtaking her expression.
He hurried to offer a reassurance. “I mean you no—”
A high-pierced scream burst from her. The most horrifying sound he’d ever heard. Sharp pains stabbed his brain, hot blood dripping from his ears. He slapped his palms over the blood-soaked shells, but it didn’t help.
The trees snapped to attention. In an instant, leaves wilted. Fruit dried up. The belua army lunged at him, and this time, they attacked to kill, stabbing and pummeling full force. Pain wracked him, each injury teaching him a new lesson in agony.
Deserve this. He’d foolishly shown favor to an enemy. Had thought to become friends with vessels of evil.
But the girl…
Will come back for her. The trees wouldn’t harm her. Even now, they kept her out of harm’s way. If she required freedom, Micah would free her. But first, he must survive.
He escaped the clearing, crawling out of range before collapsing in a beam of sunlight, eating dirt. Then the darkness came…
Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over seventy books, including the acclaimed Lords of the Underworld series, the Gods of War series, the White Rabbit Chronicles, and the Forest of Good and Evil series. She writes sizzling paranormal romance, heartwarming contemporary romance, and unputdownable young adult novels, and lives in Oklahoma City with her family and menagerie of dogs. Visit her at GenaShowalter.com.
The small Oregon town of Pear Blossom welcomes the return of its prodigal daughter Ruby McKee. Found abandoned as a baby by the McKee family, Ruby is the unofficial town mascot, but when she and her adoptive sisters start investigating the true circumstances around her discovery, it soon becomes clear that this small town is hiding the biggest, and darkest, of secrets. A raw, powerful exploration of the lengths people go to protect their loved ones, for fans of Lori Wilde and Carolyn Brown.
The Lost and Found Girl
by Maisey Yates
ISBN: 9781335503206
Publication Date: July 26, 2022
Publisher: HQN Books
Blurb:
Ruby McKee is a miracle.
It’s a miracle she survived, abandoned as a newborn baby. A miracle that she was found by the McKee sisters. Her discovery allowed the community of Pear Blossom, Oregon, broken by a devastating crime, to heal. Since then, Ruby has lived a charmed life. But she can’t let go of the need to know why she was abandoned, and she’s tired of not having answers.
Dahlia McKee knows it’s not right to resent Ruby for being special. But uncovering the truth about sister Ruby’s origins could allow Dahlia to carve her own place in Pear Blossom history… if she’s brave enough to follow her heart.
Widowed sister Lydia McKee doesn’t have time for Ruby’s what if’s – when Lydia’s right now is so, so hard. Her husband’s best friend Chase might be offering to share some of the load, but can Lydia ever trust her instincts around him?
Marianne Martin is glad that her youngest sister is back in town, but balancing Ruby’s crusade with the way her own life is imploding is turning into a bigger chore than she imagined. Especially when Ruby starts overturning secrets about the past that Marianne has spent a lifetime trying to pretend don’t exist.
And when the truth about Ruby’s miraculous origins, and the crime from long ago, turn out to be connected in ways no one could have expected, will the McKee sisters band together, or fall apart?
Only two truly remarkable things had ever happened in the small town of Pear Blossom, Oregon. The first occurred in 1999, when Caitlin Groves disappeared one fall evening on her way home from her boyfriend’s family orchard.
The second was in 2000, when newborn Ruby McKee was discovered on Sentinel Bridge, the day before Christmas Eve.
It wasn’t as if Pear Blossom hadn’t had excitement before then. There was the introduction of pear orchards—an event which ultimately determined the town’s name—in the late 1800s. Outlaws who lay in wait to rob the mail coaches, and wolves and mountain lions who made meals of the farmers’ animals. The introduction of the railroad, electricity and a particularly active society of suffragettes, when women were lobbying for the right to vote.
But all of that blended into the broader context of history, not entirely dissimilar to the goings-on of every town in every part of the world, as men fought to tame a wild land and the land rose up and fought back.
Caitlin’s disappearance and Ruby’s appearance felt both specific and personal, and had scarred and healed—if Ruby took the proclamations of various citizens too literally, which she really tried not to do—the community.
Mostly, as Ruby got out of the car she’d hired at the airport and stood in front of Sentinel Bridge with a suitcase in one hand, she marveled at how idyllic and the same it all seemed.
The bridge itself was battered from the years. The wood dark and marred, but sturdy as ever. A white circle with a white 1917, denoting the year of its construction, was stenciled in the top center of the bridge, just above the tunnel that led to the other side, a pinhole of light visible in the darkness across the way.
It was only open to foot traffic now, with a road curving wide around it and carrying cars to the other side a different way. For years, Sentinel Bridge was closed, and it wasn’t until a community outreach and education effort in the mid nineties that it was reopened for people to walk on.
Ruby could have had the driver take her a different route.
But she wanted to cross the bridge.
“Are you sure you want me to leave you here?” her driver asked.
She’d told him when she’d gotten into his car that she was from here originally, and he’d still spent the drive explaining local landmarks to her, so she wasn’t all that surprised he didn’t trust her directive to leave her in the middle of nowhere.
He was the kind of man who just knew best.
They’d just driven through the town proper. All brick—red and white and yellow—the sidewalks lined with trees whose leaves matched as early fall took hold. It was early, and the town had still been sleepy, most of the shops closed. There had been a runner or two out, an older man—Tom Swenson—walking his dog. But otherwise it had been empty. Still, it bore more marks of civilization than where they stood now.
The bridge was nearly engulfed in trees, some of which were evergreen, others beginning to show rusted hints of autumn around the edges. A golden shaft of light cut over the treetops, bathing the front of the bridge in a warm glow, illuminating the long wooden walk—where the road ended—that led to the covered portion, but shrouding the entrance in darkness.
She could see what the man in the car saw. Something abandoned and eerie and disquieting.
But Ruby only saw the road home.
“It’s fine,” she said.
She did not explain that her parents’ farm was just up the road, and she walked this way all the time.
That it was only a quarter of a mile from where she’d been found as a baby.
She had to cross the bridge nearly every day when she was in town, so she didn’t always think of it. But some days, days like this after she’d been away awhile, she had a strange, hushed feeling in her heart, like she was about to pay homage at a grave.
“If you’re sure.” His tone clearly said she shouldn’t be, but he still took her easy wave as his invitation to go.
Ruby turned away from the retreating car and smiled, wrapping both hands around the handle of her battered brown suitcase. It wasn’t weathered from her own use. She’d picked it up at a charity shop in York, England, because she’d thought it had a good aesthetic and it was just small enough to be a carry-on, but wasn’t like one of those black wheeled things that everyone else had.
She’d cursed while she’d lugged it through Heathrow and Newark and Denver, then finally Medford. Those wheely bags that were not unique at all had seemed more attractive each time her shoulders and arms throbbed from carrying the very lovely suitcase.
Ruby’s love of history was oftentimes not practical.
But it didn’t matter now. The ache in her arms had faded and she was nearly home.
Her parents would have come to pick her up from the airport but Ruby had swapped her flight in Denver to an earlier one so she didn’t have to hang around for half the day. It had just meant getting up and rushing out of the airport adjacent hotel she’d stayed in for only a couple of hours. Her Newark flight had gotten in at eleven thirty the night before and by the time she’d collected her bags, gotten to the hotel and stumbled into bed, it had been nearly one in the morning.
Then she’d been up again at three for the five o’clock flight into Medford, which had set her back on the ground around the time she’d taken off. Which had made her feel gritty and exhausted and wholly uncertain of the time. She’d passed through so many time zones nothing felt real.
She waved the driver off and took the first step forward. She paused at the entry to the bridge. She looked back over her shoulder at the bright sunshine around her and then took a step forward into the darkness. Light came up through the cracks between the wood on the ground and the walls. At the center of the bridge, there were two windows with no glass that looked out over the river below. It was by those windows that she’d been found.
She walked briskly through the bridge and then stopped. In spite of herself. She often walked on this bridge and never felt a thing. She rarely felt inclined to ponder the night that she was found. If she got ridiculous about that too often, then she would never get anything done. After all, she had to cross this bridge to get home.
But she was moving back to town, not just returning for a visit, and it felt right to mark the occasion with a stop at the place of her salvation. She paused for a moment, right at the spot between the two openings that looked out on the water.
She had been placed just there. Down on the ground. Wrapped in a blanket, but still so desperately tiny and alone.
She had always thought about the moment when her sisters had picked her up and brought her back to their parents. It was the moment that came before that she had a hard time with. The one where someone—it had to have been her birth mother—had set her down there, leaving her to fate. To die if she died, or live if she was found. And thankfully she’d been found, but there had been no way for the person who had set her there to know that would happen.
It had gotten below freezing that night.
If Marianne, Lydia and Dahlia hadn’t come walking through from the Christmas play rehearsal, then…
She didn’t cry. But a strange sort of hollowness spread out in her chest.
But she ignored it and decided to press on toward home. She walked through the darkness of the bridge, watching as the light, the exit loomed larger.
And once she was outside, she could breathe. Because it didn’t matter what had happened there. What mattered was every step she had taken thereafter. What mattered was this road back home.
She walked up the gravel-covered road, kicking rocks out of her way as she went. It was delightfully cold, the crisp morning a reminder of exactly why she loved Pear Blossom. It was completely silent out here except for the odd braying of a donkey and chirping birds. She looked down at the view below, at the way the mist hung over the pear trees in the orchard. The way it created a ring around the mountain, the proud peak standing out above it. A blanket of green and gold, rimmed with misty rose.
She breathed in deep and kept on walking, relishing the silence, relishing the sense of home.
She had spent the last four years studying history. Mostly abroad. She had engaged in every exchange program she could, because what was the point of studying history if you limited yourself to a country that was as young as the United States and to a coast as new as the West Coast.
She could remember the awe that she’d experienced walking on streets that were more than just a couple of hundred years old. The immense breadth of time that she had felt. And she had… Well, she had hoped that she would find answers somewhere. Because she had always believed that the answers to what ails you in the present could be found somewhere in the past.
And she’d explored the past. Thoroughly. Many different facets of it. And along the way, she done a bit of exploring of herself.
After all, that was half the reason she’d left. To try and figure out who she was outside of this place where everyone knew her, and her story.
Though, when she got close to people, it didn’t take long for them to discover her story. It was, after all, in the news.
Of course, she always found it interesting who discovered it on their own. Because that was revealing.
Who googled their friends.
Ruby obviously googled her friends, but that was because of her own background and experience. If those same friends had an equally salacious background, then it was forgivable.
But if they were boring, then she found it deeply suspicious that they engaged in such activities.
She came over a slight rise in the road and before her was the McKee family farm. It had been in the McKee family for generations. And Ruby felt a profound sense of connection to it. It might not be her legacy by blood, but that had never mattered to the McKees, and it didn’t matter to her either. This town was part of who she was.
And maybe that was why no matter how she had searched elsewhere, she was drawn back here.
Dana Groves, her old mentor, had called her six months ago to tell her an archivist position was being created in the historical society with some newly allocated funds, and had offered the job to Ruby.
Ruby loved Pear Blossom, but she’d also felt like it was really important for her to go out in the world and see what else existed.
It was easy for her to be in Pear Blossom. People here loved her.
It had been a fascinating experience to go to a place where that wasn’t automatically the case. Of course, she hadn’t stayed in one place very long. After going to the University of Washington, she had gotten involved in different study abroad programs, and she had moved between them as often as she could. Studying in Italy, France, Spain, coming to the States briefly for her graduation ceremony in May, and then going back overseas to spend a few months in England, finishing up some elective study programs.
But then, she’d found that instructive too. Being in a constant state of meeting new people. And for a while, the sheer differentness of it all had fed her in a way that had quieted that restlessness. She had been learning. Learning and experiencing and… Well, part of her had wondered if her first job needed to be away from home. To continue her education.
But then six months ago her sister’s husband had died.
And Dana’s offer of a job in Pear Blosson after she finished her degree had suddenly seemed like fate. Because Ruby had to come and try to make things better for Lydia.
Marianne and Dahlia were worried about Lydia, who had retreated into herself and had barely shed a single tear.
She’s acting just like our parents. No fuss, no muss. No crying over spilled milk or dead husbands.
Clearly miserable, in other words.
And Ruby knew she was needed.
One thing about being saved, about being spared from death, was the certainty you were spared for a reason.
Ruby had been saved by her sisters. And if they ever needed her…
Maisey Yates is a New York Times bestselling author of over one hundred romance novels. Whether she’s writing strong, hard working cowboys, dissolute princes or multigenerational family stories, she loves getting lost in fictional worlds. An avid knitter with a dangerous yarn addiction and an aversion to housework, Maisey lives with her husband and three kids in rural Oregon. Check out her website, maiseyyates.com or find her on Facebook.
An enemies-to-lovers mash-up of THE HATING GAME and THE GREAT BRITISH BAKE-OFF, in which two rival hosts of a massively popular cooking show have to fake a relationship to save their careers after an explosive on-air fallout, only to find their feelings for each other becoming real.
For Butter or Worse : A Rom Com
by Erin La Rosa
On Sale Date: July 26, 2022
9781335506344
Trade Paperback
$15.99 USD, $19.99 CAD
368 pages
Blurb:
Their feelings are about to boil over…
Chef Nina Lyon dreams of cooking her way to culinary stardom and becoming a household name. She thought hosting The Next Cooking Champ! was her golden ticket, but she and her co-host/arch-nemesis Leo O’Donnell go together like water and oil and he undercuts her at every turn.
So when Nina unexpectedly quits the show–on live TV, no less–to focus on her restaurant, she doesn’t anticipate the he-devil himself showing up at her door begging her to come back. Nor does she expect the paparazzi to catch them in what looks like a passionate kiss, but is actually Leo tripping into her. When the fans go crazy over Nina and Leo’s “secret romance”, keeping the ruse going might be the only way to save both their careers. That is, if they don’t kill each other first…
Perfect for fans of THE HATING GAME and Netflix’s GREAT BRITISH BAKE-OFF (…if Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood were hot thirty-somethings), FOR BUTTER OR WORSE is the escapist enemies-to-lovers romance we all need right now.
Nina Lyon stared into her dressing room’s vanity mirror. Her palms were planted firmly against the table, but she bounced on the balls of her feet—the same way she did whenever she was nervous. And she was borderline vibrating with unease.
The average at-home viewer would never notice, because her glam team, who’d become experts at giving her the “natural” look—despite the false lashes, bronzer and endless eyebrow filler—had done a superb job. Her stylist had zipped her into a classic black jumpsuit accessorized with a gold statement necklace and slim python belt that cinched her waist and showed off the roundness of her hips. Even if she didn’t feel confident, she looked as flawless as a mirror-glazed cake. She was iced perfection.
“I can do this. I. Can. Do. This,” she said out loud.
“Hell yes, you fucking can!” Her sister Sophie’s voice burst through the phone. “Hell yes, you fucking can!”
Nina looked down at her best friend, Jasmine, and her sister on FaceTime. If anyone could pump her up, it was her minihype team.
“Repeat after me,” Jasmine commanded. “I will not fall in my heels.”
“Now that you’ve cursed her by saying it out loud, she’s definitely going to fall,” Sophie chided.
“On this very helpful note, I should probably go.” Nina raised a playful eyebrow.
“Nothing, and I mean nothing is going to go wrong!” Sophie said.
“Just remember these words—do not fall—”
Nina interrupted her bestie, “Okay, ’bye!” Then she ended the video chat.
She exhaled sharply. Normally, she wouldn’t give Jasmine’s comment more than a passing thought. But tonight was deeply important, and something as innocuous as tripping could actually be a problem.
I can do this, Nina reminded herself. It was the taping of the finale of the third season of The Next Cooking Champ! and she’d worked her entire career to get to this point. While most chefs cooked in obscurity, people knew her name. She was also a female chef, a minority in the restaurant world, and the producers had taken a chance on her. But she’d earned her spot. She’d built Lyon—a successful restaurant—on her own, and had won awards while growing a loyal clientele. To her, food was more than a meal. Food was everything.
“We need a hair-and-makeup check on Nina,” Tiffany, a producer on the show, said quickly into her headset. She had one of those inscrutable faces that meant getting a read on how she was feeling was nearly impossible until she actually spoke.
“What do you think?” Nina cautiously spun to show the full effect of the costume designer’s wardrobe choice.
“You’re sweating.” Tiffany stared at Nina’s hairline.
Okay, well, that wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for. “Wait, I’m what—”
“Walk with me,” Tiffany said, cutting her off, then turned on her Converse-sneakered heel. Nina trailed after her.
They left the cocoon of Nina’s dressing room and made their way to the soundstage, which was outfitted with cooking stations, KitchenAid mixers, multiple burners, mixing bowls, measuring cups and an alphabetized spice rack. The setup wasn’t dissimilar from her own restaurant’s kitchen…except for the reality-show part.
Nina carefully ran a finger along the top of her forehead. She was sweating, and not just because of the bright, overhead lights or the row of cameras that would soon be trained on her.
Sharp footsteps approached the soundstage, and Nina turned to see the real source of her jitters: Leo O’Donnell.
Her cohost on the show was as annoying as a piece of spinach lodged in between her front teeth. He wasn’t a chef. He was a businessman, and his only accomplishment was turning his father’s charming Italian restaurant, Vinny’s, into a bland chain. Unlike Nina, he wasn’t passionate about food—all he cared about was the bottom line.
Her cohost on the show was as annoying as a piece of spinach lodged in between her front teeth. He wasn’t a chef. He was a businessman, and his only accomplishment was turning his father’s charming Italian restaurant, Vinny’s, into a bland chain. Unlike Nina, he wasn’t passionate about food—all he cared about was the bottom line.
However, not yelling would be difficult, because Leo—aka the person whose face she pictured when she needed to pound out some dough—always knew how to provoke the worst in her.
After tonight, though, the show would wrap for the season. She’d return to the day-to-day running of her restaurant, and trade in bowls of prop food for the real thing. Instead of working with Leo, where she had to control her gag reflex, she’d be in the kitchen with Jasmine. Just the thought of her old routine was like a warm cup of cocoa—comforting and extremely necessary. As much as Nina loved mentoring the budding chefs and working with the insanely talented behind-the-scenes crew…she needed the time off. From Leo the man-child, to be more specific.
A stylist soundlessly appeared at Nina’s side and worked on the unruly flyaways that always erupted from her head under the heat of the on-camera lighting, while a man with a compact dabbed over her forehead.
“How’s my hair and makeup?” Leo stopped and cocked his chin at the exact angle for the overhead light to accentuate his immaculate swoop of dark hair. It was as if someone had marked, with an X, the exact spot for him to stand so he’d look his absolute best. He was close to being six feet tall and carried himself in an overly confident way that gave him even more height. He wore a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the faintest whiff of his chest hair—a touch she’d bet a hundred bucks that he’d made, and not the stylist. As he came to stand next to her, he studied her face.
“Are you sweating?” he finally asked.
“What?” Of course, he’d noticed. “No.” She self-consciously touched her hairline again.
The makeup person gave him a once-over, then smiled. “You’re set.”
Nina rolled her eyes. One of his many flaws was that he was physically flawless. The kind of man who only got right swipes and never had to pay for a drink in his life. And if anyone claimed they weren’t attracted to him, well…they’d be lying. Like people who said they hated cake. Liars. Even Nina would never deny that he was handsome, in a certain light, if you squinted hard enough. Luckily, his habit of “playfully” undercutting her canceled out any urges she might have toward him.
“It’s a good thing they can get your hair big enough to hide the witch hat.” Leo absentmindedly rolled up the cuff of his shirt, like he hadn’t even noticed she was there.
Nina ignored how seeing a hint of his skin made her mouth twitch, just slightly. Stop drooling.
“Don’t you want to use a little powder to take the shine off his cloven hooves?” Nina asked the makeup person, but she couldn’t help but notice that Leo’s lips twinged at her comment.
“We’re back in sixty!” Tiffany called out loudly to the crew, then turned to Nina. “Should I be worried?”
“If he can play nice, I will, too.” Nina eyed Leo, who either didn’t hear her or, more likely, chose to tune her out.
She understood why Tiffany was twitching, just like everyone else on set. For the first time in the history of the show’s three seasons, they were taping live. A ploy to boost the ratings, which had been steadily declining thanks to all the new reality shows cropping up…or so the network executives had explained. They needed to attract viewers to remain on the air, and stay relevant, even if it meant entering dangerous territory by taping live.
Which meant there were no editors to cut around the indignant stink eye Leo made every time Nina gave a food critique. The director couldn’t call “Cut!” so the audience wouldn’t hear the fake retching sounds Nina made when Leo attempted a lame dad joke. While nuanced editing created the illusion that Leo and Nina were occasionally cheeky toward each other, rather than mortal enemies, this time they wouldn’t have that luxury. They had to pretend to be absolutely delightful together—two sublime cake toppers for their audience at home. The stakes were high, and it was Tiffany’s job to keep them both in line.
In classic Tiffany fashion, she returned the gesture with a blank look.
“We both know I’m not the problem. Only one of us has an official nickname,” Leo said offhandedly, like he hadn’t just turned the stove up to high.
And now Nina was truly about to boil over, but instead she bit the inside of her cheek to keep what little cool she had.
Even after years of having “Nasty Nina” trend on Twitter, be used in tabloid articles and left in comments on her IG posts, the fact that she had that as a nickname genuinely hurt her feelings. She was Nasty Nina, and the word nasty was definitely not a compliment. Especially not when trolls on Twitter lobbed it at her any time she so much as forgot to smile as the end credits rolled.
“I guess I should thank you for coining the nickname?” He was the reason she had one, after all.
“It was a joke. How was I supposed to know people would run with it?” He shrugged off her annoyance, like he couldn’t understand why she’d even be bothered.
That moment, captured in the holiday special during the show’s second season, was one she’d never forget. She could replay the clip on YouTube—it had over three million views and counting—whenever she wanted. His comment had caused their relationship as coworkers to turn from placid to a raging hellfire.
A contestant had baked a cake into the shape of Santa’s naughty-or-nice list. Unfortunately, the iced cursive letters weren’t easy to read. So when Leo bent down, he’d said, “Nasty or nice? We all know I’m on the nice list, but Nina…”
In response, she’d made a face. More specifically, her nostrils flared, her eyebrows raised nearly up to her scalp and her mouth had twisted open into a horrified grimace as if trying to swallow Leo whole.
The Nasty Nina meme soon followed. His offhand “joke” resulted in #NastyNina trending on Twitter for a whole weekend. And the nickname had stuck, further adding to her current reputation problem.
Well, “problem” was more of a euphemism for “nightmare.” When the show first started, patrons had flocked to her restaurants in San Francisco, Napa and Los Angeles. But after multiple seasons in which she’d been the harsh judge, the crowds had waned. As it turned out, people didn’t want to give money to a chef who made everyone cry. Nina was never proud when one of her comments hit a nerve, but she didn’t want to sugarcoat her reactions, either. She knew women were expected to be nurturing and sweet, but that just wasn’t her style. While she liked to think of herself as a mentor, ultimately, she preferred to give honest critiques that would help the contestants improve their craft. Was being candid really so wrong?
The novelty of her being a celebrity had worn off, too, and as of last month she’d quietly closed her Napa location. Her San Francisco spot had closed the year prior. All she had left was her Los Angeles restaurant—the first one she’d opened. At this point, using the show’s platform to turn her reputation around was critical.
And going down as the female Gordon Ramsay had never been part of the plan. She was ambitious, worked hard and saw this as a massive opportunity. She’d signed on to the show with the hope that she could become a household name and brand herself so she’d be in every living room in America. Eventually, she’d get her own show and open more restaurants. Maybe even bring her food to the east coast. A chef could dream!
But how could she accomplish any of that with Leo by her side? The truth was, he wanted her to be seen as the mean judge. From day one, he’d taken advantage of the fact that she was blunt, so he’d cranked up his own charm. When asked about how he “managed” working with Nasty Nina in interviews, he never came to her defense. And while she couldn’t completely prove it, she was fairly certain he’d even talked a producer into giving her the smaller dressing room. How else to explain that she got ready in a broom closet while he had enough space to fit a sectional sofa?
“We’re back in thirty!” Tiffany shouted to the set. Then added to Nina and Leo, “Remember, don’t step on each other’s
lines. That last rehearsal was a disaster.”
“I’m happy to deliver Nina’s lines, since she seems incapable of reading off a monitor.” Leo glanced beyond her and directly at Tiffany, just as easily as discarding a wilted garnish.
Whatever—she wasn’t going to let his petty antics distract her from fixing how the viewers perceived her. Well, maybe she was… “The real problem is that you think your voice is the only one worth hearing.” Nina enunciated every word, and he finally looked at her. She glared back.
“My voice is preferable to the screeching banshee noise that comes out whenever you open your mouth.” He smiled widely, his teeth as white and sparkling as a clean countertop.
“I use a pitch only dogs can hear, so no surprise that includes you.” Nina squeezed her arms tightly across her chest to keep from lunging for his throat.
“Children, this is live. And you promised to behave.” Tiffany listened to her headset. “Back in fifteen!” Tiffany walked away from them, disappearing behind the wall of cameras pointed their way.
“Did you miss a Botox session? I see a line.” She reached up to touch a finger to an imaginary spot on his forehead, and he swatted her hand away.
Her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected warmth of his skin against hers. But she immediately shook it off.
“Back in ten!”
“Why don’t you take your broom and ride off to the local coven meeting?” He ran a hand through his unfairly thick hair.
“Back in five!”
“That would be great for the show’s ratings. All alone, you’d rock that demo of viewers who love watching paint dry.” Nina smirked, happy to have the last dig before they went on-air.
“Three, two…” Tiffany’s voice faded and the red light on camera C blinked back to life.
“Welcome to the finale of The Next Cooking Champ!” Leo said in his fake, shellacked-on TV voice, which was smooth and measured in a way his natural one wasn’t.
The first time she’d heard that tone was the day they met, in a truly unglamorous casting office. When he’d walked in she’d assumed he was in the building for a different audition—leading man in an upcoming rom-com or handsome doctor in a future Shonda Rhimes drama. He had the good looks of an actor, and the arrogance of someone who wasn’t used to being told no. But, incredibly, he was there for the cooking show. He was in tailored, dark-wash jeans and a snug black shirt that fit him like poured chocolate ganache. He had thick chestnut waves, well-groomed facial hair and a distinguished nose that bent ever so slightly at the top. He was lean and defined, like he put in effort, but wasn’t about to say no to a slice of pizza. Or three. Which Nina preferred. She couldn’t get involved with someone who didn’t eat. Of course, now that she knew him, she would never ever, ever, ever consider being with someone like Leo.
Not that she dated. She didn’t have the time, unless you asked her sister, who thought it was more that Nina didn’t make time. Most men were intimidated by someone on television who had a reputation for being “difficult,” and her last relationship had been, well, an absolute failure.
“For those just tuning in, I’m Leo O’Donnell.”
“And I’m Nina Lyon. We have two contestants competing for the prize of two hundred thousand dollars, a cookbook deal and the title of The Next Cooking Champ,” she said, reading off the teleprompter.
She smiled for the cameras, but a big shot of genuine dopamine hit her at the same time. This was the finale of the third season. Her job was hosting a beloved cooking show, and she had the privilege of helping to change someone’s life for the better. She was damn lucky to be in this position. And she was a good mentor and chef. She wasn’t going to let the fact that Leo was standing next to her diminish any of what she’d achieved.
“That’s right,” Leo chimed in. “Our contestants have one hour remaining to present us with their appetizer, entrée and dessert courses. They’re cooking live so you can really get a sense of the pressure they’re currently under.”
She would definitely get through the taping. Why had she been so stressed about being with Leo? The night wasn’t about him, or her, really. She was just excited to see the dishes the chefs made for them. She could do this.
“Let’s check in on our two finalists!” As she turned to move toward a cooking station, she caught Leo’s eye. He winked at her, a move so subtle she wasn’t even sure if the cameras caught it. But she did, and a quick flutter rose in her belly that then caused her to blink rapidly. A move she was absolutely sure the cameras did catch. He is so irritating, she told herself.
“Tell us about your entrée, Samantha.” Leo leaned across the counter, something he always did to endear himself to the contestants. “It looks like a dish I’d want to eat with a tall pint of beer.”
Samantha visibly relaxed at the comment. For all of Leo’s faults, Nina couldn’t deny how quickly he made the contestants feel at ease. He wanted them to succeed just as much as she did. Maybe she could remember that one positive trait whenever she wanted to stab daggers at him with her eyes.
Then he tap-tap-tapped his foot at Nina. He’d started this “fun” new tapping code during dress rehearsals. His way of signaling that he was waiting for her to speak. As if she couldn’t do her job fast enough for his liking. He’d found a secret way to irritate her, even though she’d asked him repeatedly to stop during rehearsals.
The response flowed out of her as if the tapping from his foot had turned on the faucet in the sink. “Speak slowly and simply so Leo can understand what you’re saying.”
She instantly regretted the dig. Hadn’t she just talked herself into trying to be nice to him? Being rude wasn’t who she was, not really. Only Leo brought out this side of her. When she watched clips from the show, she sometimes barely knew whom she was watching. She just couldn’t fake being polite with him, no matter how hard she tried. Still, this version of herself wasn’t who she wanted to be, or what she wanted the fans to witness.
He raised one thick eyebrow at her, a challenge. She’d tossed out the first grenade, and now he’d probably return with a cannon.
Shit. So much for not reacting to him. Being enemies was their dynamic—it was how they were. She just hoped they could make it through this live taping without destroying each other, and the show, in the process.
ERIN LA ROSA is a writer living in Los Angeles. As a writer for BuzzFeed, she frequently writes about the perils and triumphs of being a redhead. Before BuzzFeed, Erin worked for the comedy websites Funny or Die and MadAtoms, as well as E!s Fashion Police, Wetpaint, and Ecorazzi. Erin has appeared on CNN, Headline News, Jimmy Kimmel, and The Today Show on behalf of BuzzFeed. She is the author of Womanskills and The Big Redhead Book.
Will he ever remember? And what happens when he does?
My Better Life, a laugh-out-loud enemies to lovers rom-com from author Sarah Ready, is out now!
My Better Life
A Soul Mates in Romeo Romance
by Sarah Ready
Blurb:
When East Coast elite and wealthy bachelor Gavin Williams wakes up in a rural West Virginia hospital, he doesn’t remember who he is or where he’s from.
He doesn’t remember his heiress fiancée, his luxury homes, his exotic travels, or his private plane.
And he especially doesn’t remember insulting local country-girl and fiery redhead Jamie Sutton, smashing her dreams, and leaving her in a pinch.
So when a redhead in overalls stands over his hospital bed and convincingly tells him he loves banjos, hound dogs, and rustling chickens, what’s he supposed to do?
Suddenly Gavin is scrambling to fit into a country life that doesn’t feel familiar and that can’t possibly be his. A wife? Kids? A chicken coop?
His life is full of holes and secrets, desires and dreams, and as Gavin learns more he begins to wonder—will he ever remember? And what happens when he does?
There’s a crowbar in my skull tearing my brain apart. I can’t think it hurts so much. I want to peel the pain away, scratch it out of my head. It’s been like this for two days now, ever since I woke up in this horrible place.
Amnesia. Who gets amnesia? Isn’t that something that only happens in made-for-television movies? The doctors don’t know who I am. No one knows. Not even me.
And the doctors claim I may never remember.
I try not to think about that, because if I do, I feel as if I’m entering a dark, tiny room, and for some reason, that terrifies me.
The doctors also said that my memories may come back all at once, or in a slow trickle over time. But there’s nothing I can do but rest and wait and see what happens.
I don’t know anything about myself. But I do know that I don’t like to wait and I don’t like not moving. Even now, I itch to get up and leave. There’s someplace I’m meant to be, someone I want to see, I can feel it. I just don’t know where or who.
I pray that I’ll remember, or that they’ll find me.
I glare at the woman standing in front of me. She’s not pretty. I don’t know why this strikes me as something I care about, but there it is. She’s not cute.
I don’t recognize her. Not at all.
“Who are you?” I flinch at the noise of my own voice. It feels like nails punching into my head.
She blinks at me. And I decide to amend my earlier opinion. She’s not pretty, but her eyes, her lavender blue eyes, are stunning. She nervously licks her lips, her pink tongue darts quickly over her wide mouth and she looks down at the hospital sheet pooled around my hips.
“Billy,” she says, her voice soft like flowing honey. “It’s me, Jamie.”
I start to shake my head, but then stop. Because that hurts too. I want to say, who is Billy, but then I realize Billy must be my name.
I can’t remember…I can’t…I can’t remember my name.
Billy.
Okay.
Billy is short for William, and when I think William, there’s a whisper there at the edge of my lost memory.
“Who are you?” I ask again.
She clasps her hands in front of her chest, innocent blue eyes wide, frizzy red hair a halo in the hospital light. “Baby, it’s me. Jamie. Your wife. I’m here to take you home.”
My wife? Her face blossoms into a beatific smile, like the Madonna under the shining light of heaven. I can’t say anything, except…
“No.”
Because I don’t know who I am, I don’t know who she is, and I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know one thing. I never would’ve married a short woman with red frizzy hair, a flat chest, unflattering clothes bought off the rack at a discount superstore, and a southern drawl that sounds like it’s echoing off a hillbilly’s mountaintop.
I would never do that.
I don’t know who I am. But I do know that I have a certain taste in women, and this Jamie person doesn’t hit the mark.
At all.
“Sorry. No.”
She grins at me. “Aww. Come on, Billy baby. Gran and the kids are waiting in the station wagon.”
That’s when my world screeches to a halt.
“Kids?”
“Course. Elijah, Tanner, and Shay. Lord almighty, Billy. How hard did you hit your head?”
She leans forward and brushes her fingers, cool as a spring morning, over my forehead.
I stare at her with rapidly expanding horror.
We’re married?
We have kids?
I’m…Billy?
I grasp my pounding head in my hands.
“I’m Billy?”
The woman, Jamie, drops a sharp peck on my cheek. Her innocent smile has a jagged edge.
“Always the jokester. Come on, honey, you’ve got work in the morning. Pumping the poo outta the outhouses.”
And that’s when I know. The reason I can’t remember who I am is because I don’t want to. An unattractive wife? A station wagon? A horde of snotty-nosed kids? Pumping poop?
Apparently, my life is hell.
And by the stubborn look on the woman’s face, this nightmare life of mine, it’s not going away.
*****
Author Info:
Author Sarah Ready writes contemporary romance and romantic comedy. Her books have been described as “euphoric”, “heartwarming” and “laugh out loud”. Her debut novel The Fall in Love Checklist was hailed as “the unicorn read of 2020”. She loves to write fast-paced, emotionally compelling romances about quirky, smart women and the men who love them.
Before writing romance full-time Sarah had lots of fun teaching at an Ivy League. Then she realized she could have even more fun writing romance. Her favorite things after writing are adventuring and travel. You’ll frequently find her using her degree at a dino dig site, crawling into a cave, snorkeling, or on horseback riding through the jungle – all fodder for her next book. She’s lived in Scotland, Norway, Portugal, Switzerland and NYC. She currently lives in the Caribbean with her water-obsessed pup and her awesome family.
Cassandra Haslam loves plans. Lunch plans, wedding plans, and floor plans—they all bring her joy. In fact, she’s had her entire life planned out—career, marriage, and family—since age ten. She’s smart, hard-working, and a real go-getter, and everything has fallen into place so far.
Until her husband dies suddenly, right when she’s about to enjoy the fruits of all of her hard work and planning, leaving Cass reeling and…well, without a plan.
When her youngest graduates three months later, making her an empty-nester as well as a widow, Cass decides it’s time to make a new plan for herself.
It’s not a back-up plan.
It’s a paradise plan.
With one of her best friends now living in Hilton Head, Cass makes a move and purchases a piece of waterfront property on the island. It’s the perfect place to build her paradisiacal life and her new self as she designs and constructs a beautiful beach house.
But when she injures herself—not in the plan, by the way—she meets general-contractor-turned-doctor Harrison Tate. He helps her out of a jammed thumb, a sprained ankle, and a bruised ego.
When he keeps showing up unannounced at her construction site, sometimes with her favorite pastries, Cass starts to wonder if she should add him to her daily routine… If she does, will her perfectly laid out plans fall short of paradise? Or could she find her new life and a new love, all without any plans at all?
She runs a personal blog on publishing and is a founding author of the QueryTracker blog, a co-founder of The League of Extraordinary Writers, and a co-organizer of WriteOnCon. She is a member of ALLi and NINC and a popular speaker for libraries, teens, and writer’s conferences across the United States. To contact Elana to speak at your event, please see her contact page.
From New York Times bestselling author Melissa Foster comes The Whiskeys: Dark Knights at Redemption Ranch, a new small-town, big-family series of standalone romance novels featuring fiercely loyal, insanely sexy bikers who give horses—and people—a second chance. Buckle up for a wild ride in Hope Ridge, Colorado, as these big-hearted badasses and their sassy sisters wrangle in their forever loves. No cliffhangers, no cheating, and always a happily ever after.
She’s the only woman he’s ever loved, and the one he could never have…
Years after losing one of their best friends to a dare gone wrong, Devlin “Dare” Whiskey continues to live up to his name, endlessly testing fate, while Billie Mancini buried the best parts of herself. Billie is beautiful and tough, and battling demons Dare has no idea exist. But Dare is done watching her pretend to be something she’s not and takes on his most important challenge yet—showing the woman he loves that some dares are worth the risk.
So I’m not sure biker stories are for me, but I keep coming back because Foster is just THAT engaging. Most of the time her heroines are sassy and strong, while the men are all alpha and protective. Every once in a while though they stray into territory that just turns me off. I’m gonna clutch my pearls here and say that the women move into bitchy instead of assertive and the men are ill-mannered (occasionally gross) a-holes. Buuuut usually if I push through it things get better, which is what happened here. In the beginning I didn’t like either Dare or Billie but within a chapter or so I found myself really rooting for them to figure things out.
Both are adrenaline junkies, always have been, but a tragic accident has caused Billie to draw into herself and try everything she can to bury that part of herself. And that includes cutting Dare out of her life. You totally feel for her as she finds herself drowning in her grief and guilt. The girl really needs to talk to a professional. Good thing her former bestie is a therapist and he’s done letting her push everyone away.
There’s a ton of big feels as Billie comes to terms with her past and embraces the person she used to be with the support of Dare and all her family & friends. There’s a few bumps along the way for them but with patience maybe they can find that HEA together.
*****
Author Info:
Melissa Foster is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal & USA Today bestselling and award-winning author. She writes sexy and heartwarming contemporary romance and new adult romance with emotionally compelling characters that stay with you long after you turn the last page. Melissa’s emotional journeys are lovingly erotic and always family oriented–perfect beach reads for contemporary romance lovers who enjoy reading about wealthy heroes and smart, sassy heroines.
It all started with a song. Two neighbors singing duets in the shower finally meet at an open mic night. Sparks fly, but will it lead to true love?
Levi Benowitz
The walls in my new apartment are so thin that I can clearly hear my neighbor singing in his shower. Sounds annoying, right? Well, believe it or not, he actually has a really great voice and doing duets with him is quickly becoming the best part of my day. We’ve never met, but the hopeless romantic in me is spinning high hopes for our first encounter.
Imagine my surprise while performing at my open mic one night, the cutie in the audience who captivates me introduces himself as my duet-singing neighbor. Not only does he have the voice of an angel, but he has the face to match. Then, be still my romantic heart, his wicked sense of humor makes him even more attractive. I’m ready for our happily ever after, but he needs some convincing.
Will I be able to come up with the right playlist to persuade him to give our perfect duet a chance?
Noctis Ralston
How odd am I? I’m a “fall in love with my neighbor before I’ve ever met him” level of awkward aardvark. But in my defense, this mystery man has a golden voice that gives me chills even in the hottest of showers. My dreams center around meeting him someday, but I’m way too shy to knock on his door and introduce myself. Besides, he’d never be interested in somebody like me who lacks a filter and any social graces, right?
When I go to an open mic night, I hear an all too familiar voice. I look up and see a beautiful man that I am quickly realizing is my favorite duet partner, AKA my new neighbor. Holy frickenfrack, he’s a “make me forget the entirety of the English language” type of gorgeous. And for some inexplicable reason, he seems interested in me, despite the fact I’m embarrassingly lacking in experience with romance, dating, and late-night escapades. Adding that laundry list of cluelessness together means I don’t know the first thing about how to be someone’s boyfriend. Thankfully, Levi is an excellent teacher. So much so that he also introduces me to a whole new world of lace, love, and learning how to embrace my uniqueness.
Thank you, super-thin apartment walls. Can my life get any better than this?
Make Music Together is the second book in the Harmony of Hearts series and part of the Sunnyside universe. This novel features a neighbors to lovers, insta love, musician, first time, opposites attract, gay romance. If you love cute sweetness, sexy fun, and no angst stories that will make you laugh and swoon, you’ll enjoy this satisfying HEA without cliffhangers. Each book can be read as a standalone or as part of the series in order.
*****
Review:
Like Play by Heart, Make Music Together is best enjoyed by those who are good with insta-love (and a lot and a lot of hot sex). Levi and Noctis have a connection through their mutual love of music but they haven’t met each other yet. Once they do, though, things quickly heat up.
In between the lots (and lots) of sex is a sweet story of finding your confidence and learning to see your value. Noctis is quirky, nerdy, and introverted. Unfortunately he’s not really found the support he’s needed to fully embrace himself. But luck is on his side when he gets a new neighbor. Levi is all kinds of supportive, understanding, and empowering. Exactly what Noctis needs to get out of his head and to build himself up.
There’s a whole lot of heat in Zoelle’s stories but she also brings readers fun and feels while leaving the angst at the door. If you are looking for an easy read to spice up your night, the Sunnyside universe may have just what you are looking for.
In THE FOREVER GAME By A.M. Williams, Daphne Abrams is used to being the family outcast but couldn’t be happier with the life she’s created, until Jameson Culter turns her world upside down. There are a million reasons why they would never work, but the universe won’t give up while Jameson is hell-bent on winning my heart. Fans of Defending the Rush by Jamie Bennettwill relish this must-read opposites attract, sports romance from the Meet Cute Book Club Series.
The Forever Game
The Meet Cute Book Club Series
by A.M. Williams
Blurb:
Daphne
Being born as a creative with zero athletic ability into a family of athletes means only one thing – I’m the family outcast.
The one who no matter how successful I am, will never fit in.
That’s okay. I’m happy with my life. I’ve got my friends, good books to read, and my very own tattoo studio where I get to live my own dreams.
Things are going just fine for me.
Then he shows up. The definition of tall, dark, and handsome. I don’t think I’ve ever been this wildly attracted to someone at first glance.
There are a million reasons why things between the two of us would never work out.
But, the universe keeps throwing us together and Jameson seems hell-bent on proving me wrong.
Jameson
I’m in town for one reason and one reason only: recover in the off season so I can go back next year ready to dominate on the field.
After a brutal divorce and an even worse football season, I need to recoup and get my head in the game.
What I don’t need is distractions.
That’s exactly what she is. She’s gorgeous, funny, and has curves in all the right places.
There’s just two small problems. I’m on the rebound and she’s the daughter of my mentor. Who would even want to go there?
But, somehow we keep crossing paths and there’s something tempting about breaking through all those stereotypes she has about guys like me.
Can we find a way to give in to what our hearts want and finally win the forever game?
He paused and glanced out the window, his brow furrowing.
I followed his gaze and just barely kept myself from groaning. Of course, my mother would come to the cafe and bring my sister with her.
“Did you tell them we were coming?” I asked Jameson, looking back at him.
He grimaced. “I mentioned we were meeting for coffee this morning.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That was enough. I bet my mom has either been sitting outside waiting, or one of her friends texted her we were here.”
Jameson said nothing in response because my mom sauntered up to us with a huge grin. Dakota followed behind, glowering at me.
What else was new?
“You two look cozy,” Mom said, clasping her hands in front of her chest.
Cozy? We looked like two strangers meeting for coffee.
“He just got here,” I told her. “It’s hard to look cozy when we’re still warming up.”
Mom waved her hand in the air, like she was clearing my words from her presence.
“Nonsense. I just knew the two of you would hit it off.”
I stifled my groan as she gazed at the two of us. “We won’t keep you,” she continued. “But I wanted to drop in and say hello.”
Before either of us could say anything, she and Dakota went to the counter to order a drink and were gone in a few minutes.
Only then did I sag into my chair. “My God…” I muttered.
“Guess I should be glad this was coffee and not something fancy.”
I barked out a laugh. “You jest, but she probably would have crashed that, too.”
“What’s—“ Jameson started, but he snapped his mouth shut when Mrs. Aldrich, a retired elementary school teacher and one of my mother’s good friends, stopped by our table.
“You two make a fine couple,” she said, grinning at the two of us. “Tall, dark, and handsome, with fair and beautiful.”
I wanted to tell her she missed squat as my descriptor, but I didn’t want her to stick around longer than necessary.
“I’m so glad to see you dating,” she said, directing her gaze at me.
I pressed my lips together to keep myself from saying something rude and nodded.
With one last grin, she left the cafe.
Jameson cleared his throat. “I was going to ask you what the deal was with your sister,” he said. “But now I want to know what the deal was with her comment.”
He jerked his head toward where Mrs. Aldrich had disappeared outside the cafe.
“Nothing much to tell,” I hedged, not wanting to get into my dating history and how horrendous it had been. I also didn’t want to talk about my sister and hoped he’d take the hint.
I wasn’t so lucky.
“And Dakota?”
I was saved from thinking of a response by another person, this time my parents’ neighbor Mr. Creech.
“I thought that was you, Daphne,” he said, grinning at me. “But I forgot my glasses at home and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
I smiled at him with affection. Growing up, he’d helped foster my love of art and drawing. He also helped me get into the art program at Abbott Ridge College.
“Yep, it’s me.”
He nodded, flicking his gaze to Jameson, then back to me. “Who is this young man? Your beau?”
My face heated at his words, and I quickly tried to correct him. “No! I mean,” I cleared my throat, “no. We’re friends and we met for coffee this morning.”
Mr. Creech grinned at me and winked. “Sure, that’s what I said when I met my wife, you know. And look how that turned out?”
My mouth dried at his words. “Oh, it’s not—“
“I hope to see you next time you stop by your parents’. I have some stuff I think you might like.”
He nodded to Jameson, then shuffled out of the cafe. Thankfully, since he forgot his glasses, he didn’t walk to a car and get in the driver’s seat. He walked away from the parking area.
“Sure were quick to deny that I was your beau,” Jameson teased, chuckling.
I glared at him, wishing I could shoot lasers from my eyes as he continued to laugh while sipping his coffee.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “This is pretty hilarious to me.”
I stuck my tongue out at him for lack of anything better to do, and he threw his head back and laughed.
The joy on his face as he did so cracked something in the wall I’d built around my heart and made me question if being so adamant about us not being something was the right thing.
Copyright 2022 @ A.M. Williams
*****
Author Info:
A.M. Williams is just a simple girl from the south that found herself living in Germany for six years, and now in Florida. When she’s not annoying her cat or reading, she’s spending time with her husband and planning trips to the beach, which is now only an hour away. She’s a total beach bum and would spend every day there if she could. She loves Cheerwine, sweet tea, and North Carolina (eastern style) BBQ as well as crisp, German white wine at any time of day.
Escape with the Meet Cute Book Club where meet-cutes don’t only happen between the pages of romance novels and members find their own happily ever afters.
Eight single women bound by their love of books take a monthly break from real life to lose themselves in the chapters of romantic fiction. From friends to lovers to fake relationships and more, each story features a brand new couple and their journey to find love from an amazing lineup of authors including Louise Lennox, Tracy Broemmer, A.M. Williams, Mel Walker, RJ Gray, Rebecca Wilder, Julie Archer, and Kate Stacy.
These eight standalone romances are packed with meet-cutes, heat, and of course a happily ever after!
This promotional event is brought to you by TheIndie Pen PR
Bestselling author Viola Shipman delights with this captivating summertime escape set along the sparkling shores of Lake Michigan, where a woman searches for clues to her secretive mother’s past
Devastated by the sudden death of her mother—a quiet, loving and intensely private Southern seamstress called Miss Mabel, who overflowed with pearls of Ozarks wisdom but never spoke of her own family—Sutton Douglas makes the impulsive decision to pack up and head north to the Michigan resort town where she believes she’ll find answers to the lifelong questions she’s had about not only her mother’s past but also her own place in the world.
Recalling Miss Mabel’s sewing notions that were her childhood toys, Sutton buys a collection of buttons at an estate sale from Bonnie Lyons, the imposing matriarch of the lakeside community. Propelled by a handful of trinkets left behind by her mother and glimpses into the history of the magical lakeshore town, Sutton becomes tantalized by the possibility that Bonnie is the grandmother she never knew. But is she? As Sutton cautiously befriends Bonnie and is taken into her confidence, she begins to uncover the secrets about her family that Miss Mabel so carefully hid, and about the role that Sutton herself unwittingly played in it all.
A small cut in the fabric that is bound with small stitching. The hole has to be just big enough to allow a button to pass through it and remain in place.
My mom told everyone my dad died, along with my entire family—grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all—one Christmas Day long ago.
“Fire,” she’d say. “Woodstove. Took ’em all. Down to the last cousin.”
“How’d you make it out with your little girl?” everyone would always ask, eyes wide, mouths open. “That’s a holiday miracle!”
My mom would start to cry, a tear that grew to a flood, and, well, that would end that.
No one questioned someone who survived such a thing, especially a widowed mother like Miss Mabel, which is what everyone called her out of deference in the Ozarks. Folks down here had lived hard lives, and they buried their kin just like they did their heartache, underneath the rocky earth and red clay. It took too much effort to dig that deep.
That’s why no one ever bothered to check out the story of a simple, hardworking, down-to-earth, churchgoing lady who kept to herself down here in the hollers—despite the fact me and my mom both just appeared out of thin air—in a time before social media existed.
But I did.
Want to know why?
My mom never cried.
She was the least emotional soul I’d ever known.
“How did you make it out with me?” I asked her countless times as I grew older, when it was just the two of us sitting in her sewing room in our tiny cabin tucked amongst the bluffs outside Nevermore, Missouri.
She would never answer immediately, no matter how many times I asked. Instead, she’d turn over one of her button jars or tins, and run her fingers through the buttons as if they were tarot cards that would provide a clue.
I mean, there were no photos, no memories, no footsteps that even led from our fiery escape to the middle of Nevermore. No family wondered where we were? No one cared? My mother made it out with nothing but me? Not a penny to her name? Just some buttons?
We were rich in buttons.
Oh, I had button necklaces in every color growing up— red, green, blue, yellow, white, pink—and I matched them to every outfit I had. We didn’t have money for trendy jewelry or clothes—tennis bracelets, Gloria Vanderbilt jeans—so my mom made nearly everything I wore.
Kids made fun of me at school for that.
“Sutton, the button girl!” they’d taunt me. “Hand-me-downs!”
Wasn’t funny. Ozarks kids weren’t clever. Just annoyingly direct, like the skeeters that constantly buzzed my head.
I loved my necklaces, though. They were like Wonder Woman’s bracelets. For some reason, I always felt protected.
I’d finger and count every button on my necklace waiting for my mom to answer the question I’d asked long ago. She’d just keep searching those buttons, turning them round and round, feeling them, whispering to them, as if they were alive and breathing. The quiet would nearly undo me. A girl should have music and friends’ laughter be the soundtrack of her life, not the clink of buttons and rush of the creek. Most times, I’d spin my button necklace a few times, counting upward of sixty before my mom would answer.
“Alive!” she’d finally say, voice firm, without looking up. “That’s how we made it out…alive. And you should feel darn lucky about that, young lady.”
Then, as if by magic, my mom would always somehow manage to find a matching button to replace a missing one on a hand-me-down blouse of hers, or pluck the “purtiest” ones from the countless buttons in her jar—iridescent abalone or crochet over wound silk f loss—to make the entire blouse seem new again.
Still, she would never smile. In fact, it was as if she had been born old. I had no idea how old she might be: Thirty-five? Fifty? Seventy?
But when she’d find a beautiful button, she would hold it up to study, her gold eyes sparkling in the light from the little lamp over Ol’ Betsy, her Singer sewing machine.
If I watched her long enough, her face would relax just enough to let the deep creases sigh, and the edges of her mouth would curl ever so slightly, as if she had just found the secret to life in her button jar.
“Look at this beautiful button, Sutton,” she’d say. “So many buttons in this jar: fabric, shell, glass, metal, ceramic. All forgotten. All with a story. All from someone and somewhere. People don’t give a whit about buttons anymore, but I do. They hold value, these things that just get tossed aside. Buttons are still the one thing that not only hold a garment together but also make it truly unique.”
Finally, finally, she’d look at me. Right in the eye.
“Lots of beauty and secrets in buttons if you just look long and hard enough.”
The way she said that would make my body explode in goose pimples.
Every night of my childhood, I’d go to bed and stare at my necklace in the moonlight, or I’d play with the buttons in my mom’s jar searching for an answer my mother never provided.
Even today when I design a beautiful dress with pretty, old-fashioned buttons, I think of my mom and how the littlest of things can hold us together.
Or tear us apart.
*****
Author Info:
VIOLA SHIPMAN is the pen name for internationally bestselling author Wade Rouse. Wade is the author of fourteen books, which have been translated into 21 languages and sold over a million copies around the world. Wade chose his grandmother’s name, Viola Shipman as a pen name to honor the woman whose heirlooms and family stories inspire his fiction. The last Viola Shipman novel, The Secret of Snow (October 2021), was named a Best Book of Fall by Country Living Magazine and a Best Holiday Book by Good Housekeeping.
Wade hosts the popular Facebook Live literary happy hour, “Wine & Words with Wade,” every Thursday at 6:30 p.m. EST on the Viola Shipman author page where he talks writing, inspiration and welcomes bestselling authors and publishing insiders.
Romantic Reads and Such 